


My tears are always frozen

by thepeopleofvictory



Series: Babe don't waste your fears (I'm trying so hard to refute these tears) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/F, I think?, PTSD, clarke is the caring gf she always is omg, lexa is so smol and so emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeopleofvictory/pseuds/thepeopleofvictory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa doesn't know how long she's been sitting in the bathroom. All she knows is that she is weak and she doesn't deserve anything.<br/>A oneshot of her anxiety attack, and how Clarke deals with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My tears are always frozen

**Author's Note:**

> (guys i really love the song 'Winter Bird' by AURORA. evidently tho, it inspired the title)  
> I'm just posting all the random oneshots i've alr written before starting on the actual story - tryna get all my bad writing out of the way :/

Lexa doesn’t know how long she has spent on the floor, forehead pressed against the bathtub, heart threatening to leave her chest. All she knows is that she can’t move, she can’t breathe. She can see her mother towering over her, telling her how much of a disappointment she is. _She is weak, she doesn’t deserve anything._

Good things always come to an end, and Lexa just knew it was wishful thinking on her part - hiding in her apartment with Clarke, playing family, ignoring her phone, pretending that for once everything was fine.

Now it is too late.

She’d received an email from her father informing her of her mother’s imminent visit, and she did not want to worry her girlfriend, excusing herself to the bathroom. But her phone has long since clattered to the ground, she's collapsed by the bathtub, with blank eyes and a shuddering chest, and she hears Clarke knock on the door. Yet Lexa doesn't move. Despite the desperation clawing at her heart, she can’t and won’t accept help because _she is not weak_. Tears stream and with every drop, she squeezes her eyes close even tighter. Lexa feels _so_ cold, the darkness is swallowing her whole, and she is  _so_ tired. 

“Babe, please,” Clarke’s voice rings out, tight and shrill, and she doesn’t know if she is dreaming but Lexa thinks she’s been by the door the whole time, “let me in. Can I come in?”

Evidently she can't even be strong for Clarke. _She is weak and she doesn't deserve Clarke._

It takes all she has in her to ignore her mother’s words, but Lexa finally manages to choke out her consent. Immediately the door swings open, and from her position on the floor she hears the soft pads of feet as Clarke slowly approaches her.

Lexa is eternally grateful for Clarke’s knowledge in these situations. Sometimes Costia tries to help, but she moves too fast, or initiates contact before Lexa is ready.

“Can I touch you?” 

She gingerly lifts her head from the bathtub, the cold edge already giving her a migraine, and forces her body to move - numb knees drawing up as she presses her back against the bathtub instead. Clarke is but a foot away, cross-legged, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

And amidst her pain and tears, Lexa falls harder for the blonde angel, who, in sweatpants and a tank, hair falling out of her bun, hands twisted together as though it physically pained her to be away from Lexa, still manages to look ethereal.

Moments pass, the silence drags on, yet Clarke is still patiently waiting. 

A hiccup interrupts her intake of breath, but Lexa ignores it and pushes out her assent. Her voice is splintered and it trembles with broken glass. Lexa feels weak.

 _Her mother is not here, she is fine. Clarke is not her mother, she is fine-_ Lexa wills her muscles to relax as Clarke scoots closer, till the tips of her toes brushes the sweatpants on Clarke’s crossed-legs, till she is close enough for Lexa's tear-blurred vision to focus on the beauty of Clarke, of her glistening eyes and the beauty mark above her lip.

Clarke doesn’t push, she doesn’t prod, she just breathes, calmly, and Lexa counts her breaths, fingertips painting her anxiety, smudging them on her palms. Slowly, using Clarke as her destination, she sinks back onto the ground. Lexa’s eyes fall shut as she tilts her head up, feeling for Clarke’s presence, feeling for the safety Clarke always provides. 

She feels Clarke shift towards her, a hand reaching for her face, and for a split second all she sees is her mother, she sees bruises and cuts coating her arms again.

But she forces her eyes open, and blonde hair and worried blue eyes swim into view. Jerkily, she nods, and Clarke’s gentle fingers wipe away her tears and fears. Lexa uncurls her fist, flinching when she hears Clarke gasp. Her palms are bleeding, her nails had dug too hard, and unsurprisingly she feels as though she deserved the pain. After all her mother isn’t there to punish her for this moment of weakness. _She is weak, and she deserves this._

Letting out a trembled breath, she watches Clarke yank her hands back, _disgusted_ , and leave the toilet without a second glance back. And Lexa clenches her eyes shut again, wanting nothing more than for the ground to take her.

Because _of course_ Clarke is leaving her. Clarke, who is her personal sun, who is always there to guide her, is _leaving_. Lexa’s chest feels as though it is caving into itself, her lungs are on fire, her heart hurts more than ever before. And Lexa has never felt weaker.  _Clarke is disgusted at how weak Lexa is and she is done with her._

She doesn’t hear the sound of drawers being rummaged, barely notices a presence by her curled form, not till soothing hands flutter along her sides, not till she hears Clarke’s throaty whisper. 

“Lexa, babe, look at me. I’m here,” she is eased into a sitting position, Clarke’s fingers under her chin, guiding her eyes.

But doubt is still holding on, and she tries so hard to anchor herself with Clarke’s eyes. She tries, and yet Lexa can’t focus on Clarke. All she knows are the hitches in her breath, the stinging in her eyes, the black spots dotting her vision. She surges forward, desperate for contact, and tears fall once again as she feels Clarke gather her up in her arms, broken pieces and all. One arm winds around her waist, holding Lexa close, while the other is but a gentle breeze amongst her braids, the first-aid kit that Clarke had painstakingly retrieved long forgotten. 

In that moment, with Clarke’s soft scent enveloping her, Clarke’s hands tracing imaginary drawings on her back, Clarke’s gentle humming, her warm breath brushing the back of her neck and reminding her of drifting clouds, Lexa feels whole and Lexa feels strong.

Her mother may be wrong, love isn't weakness. Not to Lexa, and not to Clarke. 

For now, Lexa doesn’t feel weak. Because Clarke is there, and Clarke is strength.

**Author's Note:**

> It's tad bit short. It seems I always write whenever there's an essay due, sorry bout that.  
> Also I'm sorry if this isn't how you thought anxiety attacks are like, the way I portrayed it is just the way I think Lexa experiences them, and I'm basing it on experience?  
> def come hit me up at tltkru.tumblr.com tho, crying over smol bby lexa alone is kinda sad haha


End file.
